


The Scent of Bacon

by TaleasOldasTimeandSpace



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Gen, but it's all good, out of phase, pre-butterfly bog, that takes a surprisingly angsty turn, vaguely scifi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 18:59:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9456275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaleasOldasTimeandSpace/pseuds/TaleasOldasTimeandSpace
Summary: What's the best way to thank someone for freeing you from an alternate dimension?  Make them breakfast, of course!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this prompt from the Strange Magic Writers Group:
> 
> A person who lives alone wakes up to the smell of breakfast cooking. Confused, they make their way down the steps to find the front door is ajar - someone has broken into their house! They grab an umbrella as a blunt weapon and peek into the kitchen to see a complete stranger cooking the most elaborate breakfast they’ve ever seen.
> 
> I was rather pleased with how it turned out, so I decided to Butterfly Bog it and throw it up here. Because let's be honest - pretty much everything I write is Butterfly Bog anyway. The name's just get changed to protect the innocent.

It was the smell of bacon that woke him.  it smelled delicious. But he knew for a fact that he didn’t have any bacon in the house.  More to the point, there was no one in the house to be cooking the bacon he didn’t have.

At least, there shouldn’t be.

Sliding out of bed and stepping softly to the door, Bog poked his head into the hall.  When he wasn’t immediately attacked by a bacon-munching axe murderer, he crept to the staircase and inched down the stairs, grateful for the first time in his life that his long legs meant he could skip the fourth step that always creaked.  The front door was slightly ajar, though it didn’t show any signs forced entry.  He eased the door closed, grabbed the elderly umbrella from the stand by the door, and edged down the hall.  The scent of bacon was getting stronger as he neared the kitchen.  And now he could hear…singing?

_‘Oh, what a beautiful mooooorning!  Oh, what a beautiful daaaaaay!’_

Apparently, his kitchen was being violated by a cast member from Oklahoma.  A female cast member, judging by the voice.  She had a nice voice, alto, slightly off key.

He shook his head and lifted the umbrella higher.  Just because a girl with a pretty voice was cooking bacon in his kitchen didn’t mean she wasn’t planning on cutting his throat and burying his body in the backyard after breakfast.

…maybe he needed to lay off the NCIS marathons.

Sucking in a breath, he leapt into the kitchen, brandishing the umbrella above his head.  ‘Who are you and what are you doing in my house?’ he yelled.

She’d been singing something about elephants, but cut herself off with a shriek and whirled to throw a piece of bacon at him.  it bounced off his nose and hit the floor, breaking into three pieces.  Crispy.  Nice.

They were frozen for a moment, he with the umbrella in the air, she with her arm outstretched from throwing the bacon.  She blinked twice, then exhaled with a whoosh and straightened.  ‘Yeesh, don’t sneak up on a girl like that.  You almost gave me a heart attack.’  She turned back to the stove, using a spatula to scoop the rest of the bacon onto a plate.  ‘I’m glad you’re up.  I thought you were going to sleep all day, and then everything would have gotten cold.  Breakfast is not meant to be cold.  Have a seat,’ she added, gesturing to the counter with the spatula.  The countertop was covered in breakfast dishes, from pancakes to eggs to sliced fruit.  ‘I made all of your favourites, plus I tried my hand at raspberry scones.  I’ve been dying to make them!’

She didn’t seem inclined to slit his throat anytime soon, so he slowly lowered the umbrella, leaning it against the counter.  ‘Who _are_ you?  What are you doing in my house?’

She blinked rapidly for a minute, then slapped her forehead with the hand not holding the spatula.  ‘Right!  I keep forgetting you don’t actually know me.  I’m Marianne.  As to what I’m doing, well, I should think that’s obvious—I’m making breakfast.’

He had the horrible feeling he was missing something, like he was trapped in a poorly-written mystery where the author deliberately withholds information to make the big reveal a shock.   _‘Why?’_

‘To say thank you, of course,’ she said, as if it was obvious.

It wasn’t obvious.

‘For _what?_  And couldn’t you have just sent a card?’

‘Well, that’s the point.  I couldn’t.’

‘Why not?’  It would be nice if their conversation started making sense.  ‘Are you wanted by the police or something?’

‘Mmm.  Or something.’  She took a deep breath.  ‘Okay.  So.  Y’know how this place is supposed to be haunted?  I’m the ghost.’  She grinned and did jazz hands.  ‘Surprise!’

He crossed his arms.  ‘I don’t believe in ghosts.’

‘Neither do I.  Anyway, I’m not a real ghost.  I’m more along the lines of the Phantom of the Opera.’  She frowned thoughtfully.  ‘Minus the homicidal mania, kidnapping, and creepy organ music.  And corporeal form.  So really nothing like the Phantom.  Forget I said that.’

He pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled, long and slow, before releasing the breath.  Dropping heavily onto a stool, he grabbed a plate and began piling food on it.  ‘Coffee?’

‘Serpently!’  She grabbed the pot and his favourite mug, filling it nearly to the brim and stirring in a spoonful of sugar without asking.

He took a cautious sip.  Perfect.  ‘Right.  I have caffeine.  Want to run that by me again?’

As he began demolishing his stack of pancakes, she sucked in a deep breath.  ‘Okay, so you know the episode of Stargate with the crystal skull and Daniel Jackson spends most of it out of phase?  I’m Daniel.’

‘How is that more believable than the ghost story?’

‘Because it’s true?’  She smiled weakly.  ‘I lived in this house fifteen years ago.  One day, I bought a pocket watch at an antique store.’  A chill ran down his spine and every hair on his body abruptly stood to attention.  She didn’t notice his reaction, instead staring into space as her voice turned wistful.  ‘I’ve always loved pocket watches.  Anyway, I was playing around with it, winding it, setting the time, whatnot, and I found a secret compartment on the back.  Naturally, I opened it.  There was another dial in there, and naturally, I turned it.  I felt this weird vibration all through my body, like when you’re at a concert and the bass is really strong, and the next thing I knew, the watch fell through my hand.’  She laughed, a dry, mirthless bark.  ‘I didn’t know what had happened at first.  I thought I was dreaming.  Then I thought I was dead.  I wasn’t, though.  Just “out of phase,” as the cool kids say.’

‘Why didn’t you fall through the floor?’  He wasn’t sure why he was humouring her.

‘I did!  For whatever reason, I sink to ground level.  That’s the second thing I noticed.  I couldn’t go upstairs, but I could go straight through the walls.  Stone is the only thing I can’t pass through.

‘So there I was—vanished, for all intents and purposes.  I couldn’t handle the watch to reverse whatever had happened, and I had no way to let anyone know.  I was presumed dead, most of my stuff sold.  Including the watch.  I didn’t see it again.  Not until fifteen years later, when you brought a pocket watch home, found a mysterious secret compartment with a secret dial, and turned it.  I just barely had the presence of mind to make it to the fireplace—stone, you know.  I wouldn’t have wanted to rematerialize up to my knees in the floor.  Would have been messy.’

‘But I had the watch upstairs.  How could you know I’d activate it?’

She rolled her eyes.  ‘Please.  I’ve lived with you for ten years.  I could see you, even though you couldn’t see me.  I _know_ you, Bog.  I mean, it’s wonderful to officially meet you,’ she added, holding out a hand.

He eyed it suspiciously, before taking it with his own.  She gripped it almost uncomfortably tight, biting hard on her lip and blinking fiercely.  A tear trailed down her face despite her efforts.

‘Sorry,’ she said, dropping his hand and scrubbing her face.  ‘It’s just…It’s been so long.  Since I’ve touched anyone, I mean.  I think,’ she closed her eyes and drew a shaky breath, ‘I think I just realized it’s over.  It’s finally over.’

He shook his head.  ‘No.  Sorry.  You can’t possibly expect me to believe that.’

She glared at him, watery, bloodshot eyes blazing.  ‘You don’t believe me?  Fine!  I’ll prove it.’  She jabbed a finger to the ceiling.  ‘Get the watch.’  Without waiting for an answer, she whirled and marched out of the kitchen.  ‘I’ll be in the living room.’

She was standing on the hearth when he came back downstairs with the watch.  Her arms were wrapped tightly around her middle, and she was staring out the window.  He held it up awkwardly.  ‘I got it.  Now what?’

Wordlessly, she thrust out a hand.  When he dropped the watch into it, she quickly opened the secret panel then froze, fingers hovering over the dial.  Reaching out, she grabbed his arm.  ‘You have to promise me you’ll put it right.  Promise me, Bog!  I’ve lived like this for fifteen years, I can’t be stuck again.  Please!’

He opened his mouth, ready to tell her to forget about the whole thing, that it didn’t really matter if he believed her or not.  ‘I promise.’

She stared at him for a minute longer, then quickly worked the dial, as if afraid to lose her nerve.  Instantly, she disappeared.  The watch hit the hearth with a dull clunk.

He stared at the watch, lying innocuously on the stone.  It was true.   _It was all true._  He shook himself and lunged for the watch, almost dropping it again in his haste to reset the dial.  She reappeared, curled into a ball on the hearth and rocking gently.  He dropped the watch and wrapped his arms around her.  She burrowed into his chest and sobbed.  ‘It’s okay,’ he whispered, rubbing her back.  ‘You’re alright.  You’re back.  It’s okay.  You’re okay, Marianne.  I’ve got you.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.’

She laughed.  It was watery and more than half-sob, but it was a laugh.  ‘Hey, I wouldn’t have believed me either.’

They sat in silence.  She was clutching fistfuls of his t-shirt, as if she was afraid he might suddenly disappear.  Finally, he nudged her and gestured to the kitchen.  ‘So.  Breakfast?’

‘Right.  Breakfast.’  She sat up and wiped her face on her sleeve.  ‘Like I said, it’s a thank-you.  I mean, you saved my life!  It’s the least I can do!’

‘Well, uh, you’re welcome, I guess.’  He stood, offering a hand to pull her to her feet.  ‘Where did you get the food?  I haven’t been shopping in a week.’

‘Ah, yeah.  About that.  I may have borrowed your wallet.  You had a hundred bucks in there.  Who still carries cash?’

‘I _did_ …’

‘Pfft.  That’s _so_ fifteen years ago.’

They sat at the counter, Marianne filling her own plate while Bog munched on the bacon.  The food wasn’t quite as warm, but it was still delicious.  ‘I meant what I said.’  Marianne spoke abruptly, cutting into his attempts to wrap his mind around the fact that he’d had an invisible roommate for ten years.  You saved my life.  Thank you for that.’

Bog shot her a lopsided grin and saluted her with the piece of bacon he held.  ‘Thanks for breakfast.’

 

**Author's Note:**

> Later Marianne tracks down her family, and has to deal with the fact that her baby sister is suddenly the same age as her, with a boyfriend(!). Meanwhile, Bog gets to explain to Griselda how he and Marianne met, and fend off Griselda's attempts to plan the wedding ('You've been living together for ten years, you might as well get married!' 'Mom, no! I didn't even know she was there!')


End file.
